Her Perfume
by Andhera
Summary: As crown princess, Cagalli lives a caged life, in which her identity is dictated by tradition. One day she is swept into a different life with a boy who will show her how to be true to herself and the expectations of her country. Exclusively AC.
1. The Start

Hers was the most common household name in the country. His was a name that was almost forgotten.

It was a wonder that their paths intersected, even if briefly.

* * *

**The Start**

She had blond hair and golden eyes. She wore her hair too short and spoke too crudely for her position. Yet she was loved by everyone everywhere. Maybe she was loved because she was so genuine despite her roots. She was lightning – ostentatious, charged, untameable and hard to miss.

"Princess!" she heard her governess shriek, "Why aren't you dressed!?"

Cagalli looked up at the stern expression on the overdone face of her keeper. "Dressed for what?" She asked casually, returning her attention to the puzzle before her.

The twiggy woman scowled at twenty year old outstretched on the floor before her. "For the dinner to celebrate the union of-"

"Oh, that." Cagalli interrupted, uninterested in the event.

"Oh, that?" The governess tried to remain calm, but anger was spilling into her voice. "Please, princess, you must get ready immediately. You leave in half an hour."

"Yeah, yeah." Cagalli yawned, placing another piece on the puzzle.

"Kaori, Ana!" The old woman screeched her loudest. Immediately, two girls, not much older than Cagalli, rushed into the room. "Please, make sure the princess is ready in the next 20 minutes." She said storming out of the room.

The two girls giggled as Cagalli reenacted the old woman's sharp facial expressions behind her back. "Nothing too fancy girls. Please, just this once." To this her helpers looked apologetic. "They've already picked out my dress haven't they?" Cagalli sighed, pushing herself off the floor.

"Yes, princess." They replied in unison.

"Okay, okay, I won't be difficult," Cagalli ran her fingers through her hair, pushing her bangs back. "Lay it on me girls."

With this, the two girls pulled the large doors to the room close and locked it. Kaori fetched the dress from the closet while Ana set out all the needed jewelry and make up. Cagalli reluctantly undressed. She hated dresses and jewelry and heels and shimmering make up. She would rather sit in her room all day and put together jigsaw puzzles. If she could, she would run around outside and play like she didn't get to as a child. But she was _princess_, so she would live the life most girls her age dreamed of. She got to play dress up and drive around in limousines and go to dinner parties and meet good-looking boys... men. She wanted to trade lives.

When the girls were done with her, she was in a long white dress holding the long feathery train in one hand and a crystal studded clutch in the other. Her jewelry was simple yet expensive. Her make up was the only subtle thing about her, but drew the attention to her eyes which were pools of pure molten gold. She never looked subtle but was rarely overdone. She was always the perfect amount of dramatic to keep her the center of attention. Her hair was left down today, instead of pinned up in an elaborate bouquet of braids and curls. A simple barrette of pearls held back her bangs. She stared at herself in the mirror and wondered what it was about her that attracted the royal family enough to adopt her as their only child. She was average through and through - unworthy of being some so important as the crown princess. Her father told her she'd understand someday, but that day had yet to come. So, every morning when she woke and every night before she slept she would remind herself of how average she was and that she was here only by chance.

She arrived at the dinner on time, the crowd turning to gape at her and pay their respects. She shook hands with some of the most important people in the world. She smiled and curtsied politely, radiating the elegance that everyone expected of her. Occasionally, she'd giggle with a blush on her cheeks because of some innocent mistake she made. Princesses didn't make mistakes, but she constantly did.

Cagalli managed to get away from the crowd and settle into a shadowy corner of the majestic entrance. She was thankful for the pianist's skill which had snared the crowd's undivided attention. She listened to the pleasant melody thinking about how many mistakes she had made over the years which were unfitting of a princess.

To her, in this moment, her entire life seemed like a mistake. She wasn't very popular at the orphanage because she had a very simple, naive perspective. After her father adopted her, she'd felt important and loved for a few weeks that she called the assimilation period. Once those weeks had passed, the expectations of the crown princess were put on her. She remembered wondering if the world was as heavy as these expectations. Today, she smiled, knowing that the world was much heavier. But when she was six and a half, the world seemed a lot lighter in comparison.

Her memory brought back times when she'd disappointed people. These memories were both distant and recent. They overwhelmed her, as they usually did. Her head hurt from wondering why it as her that ended up living this elaborate life. This happened often; an alarm went off in her head prompting her to run. Alas, she'd always be in the middle of a sea of people under the watchful eye of her bodyguards or the confines of the palace walls. Except today, when she was off in the shadows of the Victorian drapery adorning the grand entrance with everyone's attention on the elegant movement and music of the pianist.

She turned and ran, her heels making no sound against the red carpet. She rushed down the stairs, the feathery train fluttering behind her. She had a desperately hopeful look on her face. When she reached the last step, she decided on a direction and continued her run. Her heels now made a soft sound against the cemented walkway beneath her feet, but it was lost in the noise of traffic rushing by.

She abruptly stepped onto the street in an attempt to jaywalk. A taxi screeched to a halt by her feet. She flung open the rear door and hurriedly took a seat, pulling the rest of her gown into the vehicle. "Drive," she commanded - requested earnestly. The screen separating the driver from the passengers had a dark tint, but the driver knew the urgency of the situation without having to look at her face. He would hear it in her voice.

Her breathing was heavy and her eyes wide. She couldn't believe she'd just run away from her tightly secured and sheltered life. Her hands trembled, tightly clutching the silky fabric of her dress. She tried to smile despite her quick, shallow breathing. It dawned on her that she had nowhere to go, yet the driver was driving with a destination in mind.

"Are you okay?" She was startled by the voice beside her and shifted toward the door. To her right was a man, a boy around her age. He had blue hair, which was due for a haircut, hidden under a beret. His green eyes looked at her curiously. She'd never seen anything like them before. It was the green of her emerald necklace - a vibrant colour which she thought couldn't be replicated. Yet, here sat this boy, peering at her with eyes the very colour of the stones on that necklace. She liked his eyes, but couldn't exactly place why.

"I'm fine," She managed to stutter in response. Her breathing was stabilizing and she sealed her lips, not wanting to look too surprised.

"I knew people in this city shared taxi's, but I did not know that it was such an abrupt process." He said, putting his hand on the screen to pull it back. "Where are you headed? I'll let the driver know."

Her hand shot up to stop his from sliding the screen. "Don't." She said, an urgency to her voice.

"Okay," He took his hand off the window, not wanting to panic the blond anymore than she already was. "I'm heading past the village by the cliffs. I'm sure you want to get off somewhere in the city." He did not name the village, thinking a small place like his home would not be known to a fancy city girl like her.

"I'm heading there too!" She beamed at him. She was surprised that he hadn't recognized her yet. "Lucky! What a coincidence."

"Okay..." The boy looked a little skeptical of the claim, but did not pursue the matter. Her ruby red lips were twisting nervously and questioning her would only lead this bizarre situation in the wrong direction.

The remaining hour long cab ride was silent. He paid the cab fare in full with no objections from his travel companion. She seemed to hide from the driver as he drove off. Could she be any stranger?

"This is main street." He informed her. "This is probably the downtown section of the village. Its a farming village so the population isn't very large."

"It's so much smaller than I imagined!" The blond seemed excited by the view of the town. "I can see stars!" She gaped at the twinkling sky. He thought maybe she'd never seen stars like these before. City folk often only saw stars in planetariums.

"I'm headed this way," He pointed towards a small dirt road leading into the darkness. "Will you be all right from here?"

"I'm actually going that way too," She said, walking in the direction of his extended finger. Had she turned around to look at him, she'd have seen the surprised look on his face. He said nothing and followed her. She kept on the narrow dirt path, struggling to walk steadily in her heels.

The walk was long and her feet hurt in the shoes, but she did not complain. In what seemed like half the time of the drive into the village she reached a small house. In the moonlight she could see the right wing of the house was the base of a small lighthouse. There was a bright light revolving at the top of the small tower, as it did in the countless movies she watched. She stopped by the porch steps and turned to see if the boy was still around.

"Why are you running away?" He asked her seriously. The smile drained from her eyes and she looked cornered. Had he discovered her identity? If that was the case, she'd have to run and hope that he wouldn't chase her. She knew she could not outrun him in her golden party shoes.

Her silence prompted another question, "Who are you?"

Her eyes shot up from the grass to meet his beautiful eyes. "What do you do?" He asked.

She look at him, completely baffled. Was she getting a chance to start over and live the life she's always wanted? "Do you have anywhere to go?" He was looking at her patiently, waiting for her to respond in any way.

"I am a pianist," she lied, "and I'm running away because somewhere along the line my love for playing the piano was turned into a greedy money making endeavor. I like to play honest music and pour my feelings into it, not wear flashy gowns and bright lipstick and entertain people who only pretend to understand the beauty of the piano's sound."

She looked at him, wondering if he believed her. If he didn't, he hid it well. "...I don't have anywhere to go." She answered the final question, waiting for him to say something.

He stared at her intently for a few minutes before saying, "My house isn't big enough for two people, but I do have a piano that no one has touched in years if you want to stay."

His heart skipped a beat at the sudden illumination in her eyes. They sparkled like the ocean in sunlight, holding a warm amber colour. She had a distinct beauty to her which matched her strange personality. He absently wondered what kind of sound her piano would create.

Without another word, he opened the door to his house. He didn't use a key; instead he just pushed open the door to reveal a cozy living room. There were two adjoining rooms - a kitchen and a bedroom. The bathroom was accessible only from the bedroom. For a boy, he kept his house neat and clean. There were no dishes in the sink and all the shoes were neatly arranged at the entrance.

"The door is never locked, so you don't need to worry about keys." He reminded her, in case she didn't notice. "You can have the bedroom. Just grab one of my shirts to sleep in since I'm sure you don't want to sleep in that dress." He led her to the bedroom, where she found the bed laid and the blankets neatly folded by the foot of the bed. The piano was between the far side of the bed and the large window onlooking the water at the foot of the cliffs. The piano did not have any dust on it, but looked unused as the boy had mentioned earlier.

"Thank you," she said, not wanting to reject his hospitality. The bed was much smaller than the one she was used to. But she'd slept in tighter, harder places at the orphanage. She would get accustomed to this life soon, and would bear with the discomfort of the change till then. The discomfort of such a lack luster life was a small price to pay for her freedom.

"You can stay here as long as you like." The boy smiled. It was the first time she'd seen him smile. It was gentle and sincere, unlike the smiles of the palace employees. "I'll tell you the rest tomorrow. You must be tired. Get some sleep."

He turned to leave when she held him back with her voice, "Wait a minute!" He turned to face her, an inquisitive look on his face. "What is your name?" She asked, ashamed that she had spent two hours with this kind boy and still had no name to remember him by.

He smiled at her again. "Athrun."

"I'm Cagalli!" She said, refraining from habitually saying her full name.

"That's a very pretty name, Cagalli." Athrun's voice was warm and welcoming.

"Thank you," she said politely, shyly, "Good night."

"Good night." He turned out the lights before he left.

This was how they met, brought together by chance. Tonight, neither would truly understand the significance of the impact they would have in each other's lives. Tonight, they slept in separate rooms thinking about emerald green eyes and lively piano tunes.

* * *

**Andhera's Note**

I need to stop watching perfume commercials. They inspire me to write a bit much. This was inspired by the commercial of one of my favorite perfumes. While the commercial itself was slightly scandalous, it made me want to write a pure, innocent love story. This story should deal with the simplicity of summer love and first love.

Of course, when I thought about what characters to write into this fleeting plot, I chose Athrun and Cagalli. I can't seem to stay away from this fandom.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate feedback.


	2. The Little Things

**The Little Things**

Her watch told her she was awake early. She rolled out of bed, almost falling onto the floor. She laughed at herself alone in the room. At the palace, she was woken by Kaori or Ana bringing her breakfast. She'd sit up in her large bed as gracefully as she could, which largely depended on the time she slept the night before. The freedom to just roll off the side off her bed excited her, even though she faced the prospect of hitting the floor. This bed was lower to the ground than her regular bed, so the fall wasn't daunting. She'd probably fall off this bed in her sleep often. The thought made her smile.

She pulled down the oversized shirt she wore, lowering the hemline as much as possible before she tip toed into the living room. She didn't want to wake Athrun. She was so focused on her stealth that she did not notice the blanket neatly folded on the empty couch. Upon entering the kitchen, she realized that she had no idea how to cook. Last night, she had fled the party before the dinner was served. She was hungry. The fridge had a lot of vegetables in colours she recognized. She could identify most of them by name because her governess had dedicated many lessons to the foods of the world. However, she couldn't cook anything just knowing the names of the ingredients. She looked around for a cookbook and found a few. There were no simple recipes she could find. Everything was much too complicated for a first attempt at cooking. Athrun must be a good cook to need instructions only for such difficult recipes.

She found an apple on the small table in a corner of the kitchen. She assumed that was the dining table. It was a small meter squared surface. Maybe a forty of these tables stuck together would be the size of the royal dining table. Yesterday, she'd noticed only one chair by the table. Today there were two. She smiled to herself, feeling like she fit into this small town life just a little more. She bit into the apple as she walked into the living room. She wondered what he'd look like asleep. She'd last seen a person asleep when she was four, at the orphanage. At the palace all the staff were awake well before her, and she was not allowed into the bedroom of the king and queen. She wondered if adults looked different from children when they slept.

This time she noticed the blanket folded neatly on the couch. Her eyes widened subtly with surprise. He had woken before her, like the palace staff. She didn't understand how people got by without sleeping for eight hours a day. Everyone should get that privilege, at the least. She was always well rested for all her days, and couldn't imagine what it was like to be tired and working. It must be very unmotivating. That was something else she could discover here. But first, she'd have to find work to do.

He entered the living room to find Cagalli staring absently at the blanket on the couch. Maybe she liked it better than the one she used last night. He made a mental note to offer it to her before the day ended.

"Good morning," He greeted softly, not wanting to startle her.

Her eyes shot to him, brimming with happiness, "Morning!" Her voice was explosively enthusiastic and it made him smile.

"I just went into the village to get some things you might need." He said, setting down the large brown paper bag on the couch. "I got you a toothbrush. I have extra's, but they are all blue and green, so we would get them mixed up. I got you pink and orange. They're bright, so I thought you might like that."

He held the toothbrush out to her and she accepted it happily. "Blue for the boy and pink for the girl; it's been done like that for ages." She said neutrally, remembering all her history lessons. He noted that she might like history.

"I bought some towels and soap and a hairbrush and something to wash your face with." He explained going through the paper bag, "I tried to think about all the things a girl would need, but I'm sure I missed a few things. If you make a list of things you need, we can take care of that when we go to get you some clothes."

Clothes - she realized that she was wearing nothing but a long tee shirt in front of a boy. Her hands immediately went to work pulling the hemline down as far at it would go. Only her parents and her helpers had ever seen her with this little on. Suddenly, she felt shy and small. "Thanks," she said meekly.

"Let's go find you something for you to wear till then," He suggested, noticing her discomfort. He didn't bother saying anything to calm her because it would probably be a futile attempt. She nodded and followed obediently.

He looked at her and noticed that she was considerably shorter and thinner than he was. He would have a hard time finding clothes that fit her, especially in his current closet. Rummaging through his shirts, he found the smallest few. He folded them haphazardly and moved into his jeans. They all seemed too long and too wide at the waist for her petite frame.

"We'll have to go dig through some of my older clothes to find you a pair of pants that fit." He said, handing her the shirts. The attic has only an outside entrance by the lighthouse gate. There is no one around for miles, so you can come like that if you want. Or you can stay here and I'll be back."

She thought it over and remembered the few times she'd been out of the palace to shop. She'd need to try things on for size, since there was no one to measure her to fit her perfectly. "No, I'll come." She decided. It would be too troublesome for Athrun to run back and forth so she could try on jeans till she found a pair that fit.

"Okay, this way then," He pointed towards the lighthouse when they'd exited the house. There was a rickety set of stairs leading up to the to of the house. The stairway was steep enough to be confused for a ladder. "I'd prefer if you climbed up first, just in case you fall, but you'll probably be really uncomfortable with that. So I'll climb slow and you try to stay as close to behind as possible, all right?"

She nodded, a nervous excitement flooding her. This real life was so much more adventurous than her palace life. Athrun ascended the stairs very slowly and Cagalli kept up as best as she could. In a few days, she would be able to scale these stairs as comfortably as him. Once he was in the attic, he reached down and pulled her up. She caught her bare foot under a step and scraped it as she fell forward onto Athrun. He wrapped his arms around her tightly to keep her from falling backward and down the stairs. When the panic of the moment settled she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him in what she thought was a hug.

"You saved my life!" She claimed dramatically, tightening her arms around his neck.

He felt asphyxiated, and wondered how many people she'd killed with her gratitude. "You're welcome," He managed to choke in response, as she let go of him.

She probably didn't hear him for she was examining the attic with the same awe that she'd regarded everything since they'd met last night. The dusty attic had boxes, chests and truck full of antiques and frail artifacts. There were paintings hanging and leaning against the wall, hidden by cobwebs. Cagalli felt more history in this room than she did in museums and the thick history books in the palace library.

He moved to a cleaner part of the attic. "Watch yourself. You don't want to get the dust in your eyes. It stings." He warned, approaching a clearing with a dustless, unlocked chest. He opened it to reveal a lot of clothing neatly folded away. "These are some of the clothes from my teens which I never threw away. You'd probably fit into some of this stuff."

Cagalli cringed at the mention of teens. She was not _that_ small, she decided; he was just big. He pulled out a pair of pants from the bottom of the chest and asked her to try them on. She obliged wordlessly. They were a little loose, but seemed to fit well enough. With the help of a belt, she'd be able to wear them comfortably. The next smallest pair he had were from when he was ten, and those were definitely too small.

"These are so comfortable!" She exclaimed, squatting beside Athrun. "Can I keep them?"

He looked at her strangely. She behaved awkwardly, but he wrote that off to her strange demeanor. Still, for a girl her age to be so happy about a loose pair of hand-me-down jeans? Who hadn't worn jeans before?

"Sure, they're all yours. I have a few more pairs in here." He pulled out four pairs of pants in the same size. "They're a little torn, but knock yourself out."

"I love them!" She hugged the additional pairs to her chest protectively. "I don't need clothes anymore!"

He was taken aback at the statement. He thought she was a rich girl who would want prettier clothes. He had even brought her a catalogue so she could look through it and get an idea of what she wanted. Yet she seemed happier than most newly weds on their honeymoon, clutching his old faded jeans in her slender arms.

"Do you have an old pair of shoes?" She asked, her voice a little shy to make such requests of a complete stranger.

"Yeah," He pointed to a corner, "All the old shoes are lined up on that rack there. There should be quite a few that fit you."

She bounded over to the shoes, picking out all of the shoes that were not black or white. She found red ones and a green pair which she liked. She wore the red pair, struggling a little with the laces. She couldn't remember the last time she tied a pair of shoelaces. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall rack holding a diverse collection of hats. She picked a small canvas hat that reminded her of the chocolate she loved.

Athrun watched her with an amused smile pulling at the corner of his lips. When she walked over to the large hat rack in the corner of the room, he remembered something which might have saved him a lot of trouble. Before he could speak his mind, she picked a hat and turned to face him.

"How do I look?" She asked, striking a pose. She twirled so that he could get a good look at her from all angles.

He couldn't hold in his chuckle. "Like a 12 year old boy," he responded, to which she puffed her cheeks.

"Really?" She asked, looking around for a mirror, unable to find one.

"Well, you're in a tee shirt and jeans that are too big for you." He shrugged, giving her the once over, "What do you expect?"

She ran back to the shoe rack and picked a red plaid shirt from the bunch he'd handed her downstairs. She found a blanket hung across a wire and used it as a screen to change behind. It wasn't tall enough to cover all of her, but decently hid her neck down. She pulled off the tee shirt quickly and unbuttoned the top few buttons on the red shirt. Before she could pull it over her head, a small cardboard box hit her ankles. She looked over the blanket to see Athrun facing the other way.

"All that should fit you too." She quizzically looked at the box. She reached down to open it with one hand and found it to contain underwear. She blushed staring at the simple white undergarments in the box. They were so different from the lace detailed ones that filled her dresser drawer. She was amazed at Athrun's detailed perspective on this random situation she'd pulled him into. He intrigued her.

"Uh, Thank you." She stammered. They did fit her well.

She emerged from the makeshift change room in a shirt that almost drowned her. He smiled at her, "Now you look like a lumberjack."

She laughed at the thought, pretending to axe a large tree. "I like dressing like a boy. Your clothes are so much more comfortable."

He decided not to show Cagalli any of _her_ clothing. She seemed uninterested in feminine clothing anyway. Surprisingly, they were the same size and would even look similar were it not the radical difference in hair and eye colour. She had been brunette with matching eyes. Yet, she was soft spoken and reserved, in stark contrast to this electrified, energetic blond.

He fetched a bag, filling it with all the additional jeans, shirts and shoes they'd put aside for her. "Is there anything else you want to keep from up here?"

She shook her head after taking one final look around. "Where did you get all this stuff from anyway?"

"It was here when I got here." He shrugged, heading to the door. He slung the bag over his shoulder. "Since you're in pants now, I'll go down first."

"Do you have a belt?" She asked before they left.

"Yeah, they're all downstairs." He started climbing down the stairs. "Just manage without one till we get there."

She nodded and followed his lead. Climbing down was a lot more difficult than climbing up. It might take her two weeks to get used to climbing down. Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she took the bag from Athrun despite his resistance.

"It's okay, I can carry it." He assured, "It's a little heavy."

"No," She shook her head vehemently. "I want to do it myself."

He eventually gave into her insistence. She found no point in leaving the palace if she wasn't going to take care of herself and she had to start somewhere. He watched her struggle with the large bag. She was as stubborn as she was energetic. He stopped himself from offering anymore help. She had a determined look in her eyes.

This was when Athrun noticed that she was almost unrecognizable because of that hat. Is that why she picked it up, because she wanted to hide? But then, some people just liked hats.

He heard a large thud in the bedroom followed by a loud sigh of relief. In what seemed like the next instant, she was beside him with her watch in her hand.

"It's noon!" She showed him the watch and he confirmed the time. The hunt for clothes had taken a lot longer than it seemed. Time flies when you're having fun, so they must've had fun.

"Are you hungry?" He asked. He felt like he was taking in a stray puppy every time he talked to Cagalli. He'd met his fair share of high class people in his life and she broke the mould in every way.

She nodded. She'd forgotten her hunger from breakfast when they were in the attic, but it was making itself present now that they were back.

"What do you want to eat?" He asked, unsure of her tastes.

"Whatever you eat!" She wanted to try his food. Everything about him was so contrasting to the normal she knew. She couldn't wait to try his food.

"Are you allergic to anything I should know about?" He asked, not wanting to accidentally kill this newfound pet.

"I don't think so." She put a finger on her chin as she thought about foods she was prohibited from eating.

"You don't think so?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's not definitive."

"I - I don't know." She had a small pout on her face. Maybe she didn't know so much about herself after all. "I don't cook," was her excuse.

"I guess we'll just go on a trial and error period." Athrun grinned. He couldn't resist ruffling her hair; she looked childishly adorable and confused. "And we'll just hope that you won't die in the process."

A subtle rose blush settled into Cagall's cheeks. Only two people had ever ruffled her hair before - the keeper of the orphanage and her father, the king of Orb. It had been over a decade since anyone but a hair dresser had touched her hair. She had forgotten the comforting feeling it gave her.

"Do you like eggs?" His voice pulled her out of her memories. She nodded in response to the question, her eyes lingering on his hand which was back by his side. "How about omelets?"

"For lunch?" Her puzzled eyes met his in question.

"Why not?" He wondered what kind of food she was used to eating. By her response, he was sure that she ate gourmet food daily, prepared by one of the best chefs on the country. Maybe eggs for lunch was too absurd. He had lived alone for so long that he'd stopped thinking about such things years ago.

"That sounds exciting!" Her voice was full of energy as always.

"Exciting?" He chuckled at her innocence. "A little sheltered, aren't we?"

"Sheltered..." She let the word sit in the space between them for a while. "I guess, in a way my life has been sheltered, but in a different way it's been extremely open."

He saw her chewing on her lip, trying to figure out something that seemed too complicated for the moment. "Isn't everybody's?" He offered, trying to conclude her vague thought. "We all see a lot of life from a few comfortable angles. Nobody looks at it from every possible angle. It is too impossible."

Cagalli considered what he said and decided to shelve it for examination at a later time. "You're very intelligent." She said casually. "How did you end up all the way out here?" She asked curiously, pushing him towards the kitchen. Her stomach was crying loud enough for Athrun to hear.

"It's a long story. Do you know how to make omelets?" He asked, diverting the subject.

"No. But they are almost my favorite type of egg." She beamed. "You can teach me how to make them!"

Athrun agreed with a nod, noting that Cagalli tended to give permission rather than make requests. Maybe he was dealing with aristocracy. He wondered if it was illegal for him to allow her to stay knowing she was a runaway.

He made lunch while she made a mess. She insisted on cutting the vegetables and whisking the eggs and pouring the mix onto the pan. She even insisted on flipping the omelets but he refused her. He wanted omelets, not scrambled eggs with vegetables. The result wasn't as disastrous as he expected, especially with Cagalli handling most of the preparatory work. The omelets were a strange shape as were the vegetables embedded in the eggs, but they tasted pretty good. They would taste even better with a little less salt.

They took their plates and a carton of juice onto the porch and ate lunch there. They spent the rest of the day just talking about each other. Cagalli told him about her fascination with history and puzzles and, of course, the piano. She didn't divulge much information about her life but talked a lot about herself - her likes and her dislikes. He mostly listened, filling in the cracks of silence with small anecdotes about the village and his work. He mentioned that he wasn't born in the village but never touched on why he was here now, alone.

A gentle breeze blew all through the afternoon and into the evening. They learnt a lot more about each other than what they talked about. Cagalli learned that Athrun noticed everything and was easily amused by the small things in life. He also was private and in turn respected her privacy. He liked to watch the way insects communicated with each other and worked so seamlessly together. Athrun concluded that Cagalli had probably spent her childhood with very few friends and indoors. She seemed protected, yet approached everything around her with a fascinated curiosity. She was sharp and well educated. She was also a master at putting on an act when anyone was nearing uncomfortable territory.

It was a new moon tonight, but they sat out in the company of the stars for dinner. Dinner was pizza, which had left the kitchen in a larger mess than the omelets had. Having exhausted personal anecdotes and pleasantries for the day, they discussed how their mushrooms looked like various animals. Athrun praised Cagalli's chopping skills sarcastically. She threw a mushroom at him to exact revenge. He told her that she was as scary as the wild animals that prowled around at night. Taking his words too seriously, she squeezed his arm, her eyes darting around in the darkness. He cringed, wondering if she knew how to moderate her strength.

It was eight when they decided to head indoors to clean the kitchen. This was the first time in years that either of them had spent so much time with someone their age. Cleaning the kitchen was a lot more civil than Athrun expected it to be. In his defense, Cagalli had a habit of throwing things at him when he was being unnecessarily sarcastic. However, unnecessary, in his opinion, was open to perception.

Cagalli found she liked cleaning. It was something she could focus on and it produced immediate results, like puzzles. She felt she understood why the cleaning staff at the palace were always cheerful. They got to clean so much, everyday, all the time. They were like the gardeners; they did not deal with too many people or get involved with the internal politics of the palace. They proudly tended to their work daily and kept out of trouble. If she weren't crown princess, she might enjoy being a maid.

When the clock struck ten, the kitchen sparkled more than it did in the morning. They stood back and silently admired their work.

"Thanks for helping me clean up." He turned to her with a smile.

"No need to thank me. I totally enjoyed it!" She said with her trademark enthusiasm.

He chuckled, leading them out of the kitchen. "You're an oddball."

Cagalli faked a frown. "You're lucky I have nothing to throw at you."

So, she did notice her strange habits, Athrun observed, taking a seat on the couch. Before he could say anything, she wished him good night. "I had a lot of fun today! You were up way before me, so you should sleep. You accompanied me all of today, so I'm sure you have work to do tomorrow. You shouldn't be tired for that."

His green eyes reflected his amusement at her rambling. "All right. If you say so. Can you find your way to the bedroom by yourself?" He teased.

"Yes, I can. Thank you very much." She responded, slightly annoyed. It disgruntled her every time her behaviour was food for his constant amusement. It made her feel like the ants he watched out on the porch. She wondered what he thought of her. "Good night Athrun."

It was the first time he'd heard her say his name. It had a nice ring to it.

"Good night Cagalli."

* * *

**Andhera's Note**

This chapter seems weird to me, but I can't place my finger on why. Maybe you can let me know. I found myself stopping at various sections to take breaks needlessly, which rarely happens. If anything sticks out as odd or awkward to you, please let me know. I am constantly looking to grow as a writer.

Thanks.


	3. You and Me

Thank you _BrownSugarCandy_ for getting me back to this story.

* * *

**You and Me**

It had been two weeks since he had met Cagalli. In the time, she had seamlessly weaved herself into his life. She had become his shadow in every way except that she was shortest in the morning instead of at noon. Athrun had stopped crossing her in the mornings because of her temper.

She accepted change gracefully. He came to an early conclusion and expected her to tire of the country life in a few days. Yet, she welcomed the change enthusiastically. She was not afraid of mistakes and certainly not shy to put his life in danger recklessly. Most city people did not take so well to the country life.

"What're you thinking about?" Her voice drew him out of his absent musings. They were stranded on a boat, off the cliff shores that his house stood upon. She seemed bored with trying to fish in vain. Fishing was probably her least favourite activity. It forced her to sit still and wait; two things that she was not skilled with. She occasionally enjoyed the peace, but would not last nearly long enough to actually catch dinner.

"You," was his lack lustre response.

"Really? Really?" There was a sudden spike in her curiosity and her slouched posture straightened up. "What about me is amusing you this time?"

She had come to terms with the fact that his mind was easily occupied. Initially she felt awkward, taking his thoughts as direct scrutiny. Eventually, she came to learn that he mused and pondered because he would wilt away if his mind stopped, even if it were for a brief second. Now she became excited when he broke her down and thought about her. It was as if she was looking at herself through his eyes.

"You adapt to change gracefully for a rich girl," he offered neutrally. His words could be taken as a compliment or an insult. She could be flexible or fickle.

"For a rich girl huh," she let the thought linger on her tongue for a while before asking, "How many rich girls have you known long enough to observe their reaction to change?"

The question took Athrun by surprise, not because it was profound but because it made him realize the small count of people he'd been exposed to for more than a few hours at a time. "None."

"Then how can you say with such certainty that rich girls do not adapt to change?" She challenged.

"I can't." He conceded.

"Oh, you're no fun!" She exclaimed. "I was hoping you'd quote daytime television as your source."

"Are you that eager to ridicule me?" His tone was subtly inquisitive.

"A little," she admitted, "but it would also be a flaw in your intellectual perception of the world around you. Right now, it is too immaculate for my liking."

Athrun chuckled. "Then I'm sorry that I don't get to watch much daytime television."

"It's both true and false actually," she felt back into her slouch, moving her fishing rod from one hand to the other and back. "Rich girls are spoilt and like to be pampered. So, they oppose changes in lifestyles vehemently. They'd rather die than forsake the luxury money can buy." She noticed Athrun close his eyes. He always closed his eyes when she spoke with seriousness or when she was trying to explain a point outside an argument. She didn't know why yet; maybe it helped him imagine. She wondered if he was imagining her being spoilt rotten by butlers, maids and governesses. Did the thought amuse him or did he pity her? He once called her life sheltered and she had yet to determine if he was right or wrong. "But rich girls are constantly surrounded by change and surprises. It might not seem like a big change to have to deal with schedule changes, especially with so many hands to help. But most rich girls are raised with busy days and strict timings. She follows the orders and requests of the people around her and is never allowed to think for herself. So, she develops a sense of anticipation. She knows that piano lessons are at two and by three-thirty she has to be dressed and ready at the stables for horse riding after which they need to accompany Mr. So-and-So to the such-and-such ball that evening."

"Yet, when she reaches their teens this life seems to inevitably unravel. All of a sudden, she was supposed to have History in the morning and now she has to learn the intricacies of the political relationships between countries X, Y and Z because she receives a last minute invitation to the birthday party of the crown prince of country Y. The history teacher can't come in on Wednesdays so now Piano class is moved to tomorrow, so that History can be done in its place on Thursday. But she has not practiced the sonata she's supposed to – that was slated for Wednesday night. So now she must return from the party and practice the piano till she is forced to bed at 3 am. Then she must look radiant and beautiful the next morning because it is her duty to appear immaculately polished all the time. She hasn't the space for fatigue or irritation in her personality because it is judged to the same standard that her beauty is. It is a lot to handle even without the pressure having to appear perfect."

Cagalli paused here. Maybe she needed to catch her breath or needed a break from her reminiscing. Athrun did not bother speculating. He merely filled the silence with, "That sounds like a big change in lifestyle, which contradicts your point of rich girls do not take well to lifestyle changes. A lifestyle change doesn't need to take you from riches to rags. That is the change your lifestyle adopted. Going from rigid structure to haphazard chaos is a much harder change to undertake in my opinion."

She looked at him dumbstruck. No one had ever sympathized with her before. She'd always been told that there were sorrier souls out there. While this was true, she still craved compassion. "How can you say which is harder? Doesn't that require experience?"

"It would be your assumption that I do not have relevant experience." He pointed out that their histories were still a mystery.

"Well, hypothesis actually," she corrected. "You told me you haven't been around rich girls for extended periods of time, which means you were not a rich boy. All rich boys meet rich girls, regardless of how young they are. So, it is safe to assume you do not know the riches to rags change from first hand experience."

"It is a safe assumption, but an assumption nonetheless."

"All you are doing now is avoiding my question."

"You're right," He admitted. She stayed silent. They continued to fish as they listened to the wind and the water lapping at the body of their boat. "When I was given the choice between being rich and structured or poor and unstructured, I chose the latter. I could not bear the transition from being in control of my life to following the guidance provided to me without question. That's why I ended up here."

"Do you like what money can buy?" She asked, trying not to pry into his past.

"Sometimes," was his vague answer. "I like the unlimited resources it can buy."

Cagalli laughed softly, and Athrun looked at her inquisitively. "What?" He asked.

"That is such a typical Athrun answer!" She reeled her line in and threw it out again. "Then what can money buy that you don't like?"

"People," Athrun said simply. Cagalli's smile faded quickly as she nodded in agreement.

The conversation stopped there till Athrun had caught enough for dinner for a few nights. Cagalli insisted on rowing back to shore but tired halfway. Her relentless personality refused to surrender the oars so Athrun proposed a compromise where they both rowed. Their attempts at synchronization left them snaking their way home, laughing all the way.

They had laughed a lot together. Athrun hadn't laughed like this since he was a very young child and Cagalli couldn't remember if she'd ever had the occasion to laugh so genuinely. She felt healthier when she laughed. She finally understood why that silly old doctor kept preaching that laughter was the best medicine.

Cagalli followed Athrun everywhere except into town. She was lucky that Athrun did not recognize her and could not risk being seen by others. She'd always duck away when the occasional neighbour visited Athrun, but this did not happen too often because the nearest neighbour was mile away. She was sure Athrun noticed her odd behaviour but he never questioned her. He probably knew that she was no pianist and that she was some sort of a public relations daughter. 'Public relations children' is what Athrun called the offspring of wealthy families that were used to build a lasting rapport with their partners and the public. He never asked and as far as he knew, he did not snoop into her life when he went to town. If he had discovered her identity, she would not be here. She was sure that he would not keep the crown princess of his country fugitive knowingly. For now, he seemed to accept that she just turned up one day and expected that she would leave similarly.

They were open but not close. They shared their opinions and thoughts without inhibitions. Athrun told her a lot about what needed to be righted in the country. He spoke of remote villages that were being abused by corrupt low-level nobility. He told her stories of children farming and the underground slave trades. He sounded most bitter when he spoke of girls only the raw age of 16 or 18 being sold to rich businessmen as sex toys under the guise of secretaries and personal assistants. Cagalli had cried when she heard such stories, disgusted with the heritage she was to inherit. As she cried, he told her smaller tales of happiness. He told her about public schools and orphanages and the volunteering spirit of the citizens of Orb. He painted her beautiful pictures of limestone cliffs, castle ruins and sunsets on the ocean. He told her about how families warred and reconciled and evolved with each day. He always said that life in Orb wasn't as peachy as it seemed, but it was littered with warm moments everywhere. He didn't believe in softening reality but recognized it from its many facets.

As every day passed, Cagalli grew more curious about the life Athrun had led. He had so much worldly knowledge to share with her, yet he was so young. What kind of a life would shape him into the man she wanted to know? She was too shy to ask and too afraid that it would rightful open the door to her life, which she was desperately trying to hide from him. So, she could only discover the who, not the how and why.

"Athrun," she called out to him one Tuesday. His torso was hidden under the large revolving spotlight in the lighthouse. She squatted next to his toolbox and occasionally handed him tools if she could identify them.

"Mm?" He sounded like he was holding the wrench she'd handed him between his teeth.

"What makes you happiest?" She asked, toying with a screwdriver she'd picked up. Clattering accompanied her question.

"Sorry, I couldn't talk for a bit there." He apologized. "What was that?"

"What makes you happiest?" she reiterated. She watch as more of Athrun disappeared under the spotlight.

"Nothing," was his simple response. "What makes you happiest?"

There was a long pause filled with the harsh squeaks of tightening rusted bolts. When she finally answered, she did so in a soft, bashful voice. "Being here with you."

There was a loud crash and a loud yelp. The wrench slipped through an opening and clattered it's way down the spine of the lighthouse.

Cagalli dropped to her knees and leaned forward. Her face was twisted with anxious worry. "Athrun! Are you okay!?" She'd forgotten completely about the connotations of her words.

"Yeah, I'm okay." His voice wavered slightly with pain. "I dropped the wrench but I'm finished with the repairs. We'll just grab it on our way down."

He lay under the light he was fixing until his heart slowed to a manageable pace. He would usually not react so drastically to a conversation like this, but it had a strong sense of déjà vu to it. It brought back a fond memory which was still painful to recall. Although, the last time he'd heard the casual words, they had not been directed towards him. At the time he was too young to understand the heavy emotion behind the simple phrase. Today though, he knew exactly what they were trying to convey.

Cagalli's words were light and she probably did not understand the strong meaning that could be imposed onto those words. She was still a child in that aspect. He knew with certainty that what made her happiest was her freedom.

"Watch out I'm coming out." He warned before shimming his way out from under the fixture. His forehead had a growing red bump on it.

"You're hurt!" She said, her voice surprised and displeased.

Athrun looked at her blankly for a second before the pain shot through his forehead. Nostalgia was a good temporary painkiller. He groped his forehead but found that only increased the pain. He left the throbbing swelling alone, telling Cagalli that he'd be okay. "I'll ice it once I get downstairs."

"No, no, we'll go now." She insisted, talking him by the hand and rushing down the stairs. From the way she was acting, he concluded that she did not deal with minor injuries often. He was worried she'd hurt herself more severely running down the spiralling stairs of the lighthouse, but he knew that anything he said now would float over her head without sinking into it.

She burst into the kitchen, leaving him on the couch, and grabbed the ice tray from the fridge. She carried the tray into the living room where he sat and took one cube of ice in each hand and pressed them to the bump on his head. She slowly moved the cubes of ice to evenly cover the entire surface of the swelling. As soon as the cubes became too small to hold, she would discard them and fetch two more from the tray. This was her version of icing a wound.

"Cagalli-"

"Be quiet." She commanded, not allowing him to speak.

He chuckled because her behaviour was so eccentric and because the frigid water dripping down his face was tickling him. After five minutes, Cagalli could no longer play nurse. She could not hold the ice cubes in place anymore because her fingertips were frozen numb. She was getting frustrated with the pieces of ice that kept slipping out of her fingers. She cursed and it might have been the first time Athrun heard her use fowl language.

He rose from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen for a few seconds, emerging with a piece of fish that had been wrapped and stored in the freezer. He put the fish to his forehead, covering the bump with the body of the fish. Cagalli watched in awe.

"That is genius!" she exclaimed, flabbergasted by the simplicity of the idea.

"Thank you. I like to think I'm innovative." Athrun joked. He watched Cagalli rub her hands together to warm her fingers and from her expression it was not working as well at she'd like.

"Suck on them," he suggested, receiving the confused look he expected in response. He approached her and took one of her hands in his. He flinched at their frigidity. "If you suck on your fingertips, they warm up fastest." He separated her index and middle fingers from the rest and put them in his mouth. "See," he tried to say, but the sound was mangled because of her fingertips pressing against his tongue.

Cagalli fought off a rising blush. An immediate warmth flooded her and her toes tingled. She didn't understand why, but enjoyed the sensation. She took the same fingers from her free hand and mimicked the movement of Athrun's tongue against her fingers. Her body temperature felt like it had risen a few degrees.

"You're such a child," Athrun said in the lisp that her fingers imposed on his speech. Cagalli's fierce expression tried to burn through him for the amused comment, which only made Athrun laugh more.

Athrun thought about the last people that he'd shared this house with – his parents. Those had been the happiest times in his life and the superlative joy had left with them.

_I am happiest being here with you._

Happiest – it was such a deceiving word because no one knew of the happiness the future held. All Athrun knew was that he was happier with her than he was without her.

Wasn't that all that mattered?

* * *

**Andhera's Note**

I am so glad I am not losing this story like I am losing Chalk Dust.

To the many people that are asking, the commercial that inspired this story is the extended version of the Nicole Kidman commercial for Chanel No5. It's gorgeous commercial for a gorgeous perfume. Do not ask me about the end of the story. You'll have to read it all the way to find out. ;)

To those who find Athrun and Cagalli's immediate compatibility or the lack of suspicion strange, the story was planned as such. I have my reasons and will not narrate them here. Should you be curious about my reasoning and justification, PM me and I'll gladly let you know.

Thank you for the reviews.


	4. Between the Lines

For **Tryst**, the brainchild of xpainted dog

It was love at first sight. The first chapter is stellar and the rest of the story has megatons of promise. While Mu/Murrue might not be your OTP, I urge you to read it. Those who enjoy well written stories, I recommend this to you, silver platter and all.

* * *

**Between the Lines**

"You never play."

It took Cagalli a few moments to understand what Athrun meant. Her first thoughts were, 'Of course I play! I play so hard that you almost always complain.' But before she spoke that thought, she realized what he had meant.

"Mm," she agreed, not meeting his eyes.

"Why not?" He shifted his position on the sofa so that he comfortably faced her. She knew he was interested in where she had come from; he had always been. This was the first time in the six weeks that she'd lived here that he'd brought up anything from her previous life.

"I don't like it very much," she responded truthfully. She had only lied about being a pianist. She did not actually like to play.

"Do you know how to play?" he asked boldly.

"Of course I do," was her obvious reply.

"Then there must be something you like to play." Cagalli wondered how he would know something like that.

When she did not respond, Athrun dropped the topic and returned his attention to the comedy playing on television. The screen flickered with static and the picture was lagging behind the sound tonight. Maybe this was why his mind reflected on his new found housemate.

Six weeks had passed and he was sure that he knew more about her than any other person she had ever met before. The way she spoke of her past gave him the impression that she lived a double life – one for people to see and the other in loneliness. She shared with him the version of herself that was untainted by facades. Perhaps this was because she did not how to change herself to meet his expectation because he had no expectations and was happy with who she truly was. He knew she was in the constant habit of wearing faces around other people because of a conversation they had once had.

She had said, "You know Athrun, you are probably the only person I know who is completely satisfied with who I am."

To this he had asked, "Have you ever given anyone else the chance?"

At this she had frozen and her eyes had become steely and sad momentarily. He did not know if his question had surfaced a painful memory or dawned on her the realization that she was untrue with most of her acquaintances. But he could tell that there weren't many people she'd been completely honest with about herself. There might have been none. While she showed him her unaltered personality in the present, she went to great lengths to hide her past from him. So, in reality, he knew only six weeks of her; and the lie of her being a pianist.

That night, he was filled with a curiosity of her life before him and slept to thoughts of her. He did not know why he couldn't shake this sudden fascination. He justified it to the fact that she was possibly the most peculiar and quirky person he'd ever come across in his life. It was the first night he'd dreamed of her. He dreamed her out on the cliff outside their house. She was wearing a wispy white dress and her hair had a long ribbon braided into it which gently floated with the breeze. She sat at a piano and played his favourite song. It had been many years since he'd heard this melody. He was lying down on a lush, grassy patch and enjoying the long lost familiarity of the melody and the taste of the salty breeze from the ocean. This was how she made him feel – serene and whole.

He stirred to the sound of music. His eyes were heavy with sleep and he was certain that he was still in the clutches of his dreams. It was a languid romantic melody that sounded best when it was played lazily, like it was now. It was the unfamiliarity of the piece that brought him to his feet. With half lidded eyes and his feet dragging across the living room floor he made his way to the bedroom. The short song had ended by the time he reached the open door.

Settling into the doorframe, he yawned a sleepy command. "Play it again."

She was startled by the audience. It was after all 3:36 in the morning. "You're awake." It was more a question than a statement.

"Play it again," he insisted in a sleep induced slur. He almost sounded childish.

She stared at him, his body limp in the door frame, his eyes open just enough for him to perceive blurs of colour. He was opening his mouth to repeat himself yet again. She quickly poised her fingers over the piano, stopping him before he started.

The slow, romantic song filled the air again. She played the notes softly with a pronounced staccato. Music normally painted a picture in his head, but this melody just blended together pinks and reds. It made him tingle and bubble over.

"Sit," she permitted, as she always did.

Normally he would have refused, but he was too heavy from sleep this morning. He took a seat on the edge of his bed. It had been a long time since he'd been on his bed. The passivity of the song lulled him further into his sleep. His subconscious coaxed him into curling up on one corner of the bed. He listened to her sound long after he stopped watching her, until sleep had embraced him once more.

She occasionally glanced at him as she moved her hands across the keys. She dared not stop in fear that he would wake. After close to an hour of playing, she paused to pull a blanket over him. The sun was rising on the distant side of the ocean. The faint sunlight played with her eyes, making them heavy. The fatigue of piano and memory had caught up to her.

She fetched another blanket from the closet. She liked small houses like this. In just six weeks she knew it as intimately she knew Athrun. The palace was too big for her liking. After all these years there were places she had yet to discover.

The heavy curtains were pulled shut ushering into the room night once more. She curled up opposite Athrun in a way that allowed her to watch his sleeping face. Should her head move a few inches, their foreheads would meet. She liked the way her hair looked twined in his. He looked peaceful, a smile she'd never seen before painting his lips.

What was it about the piano that tugged at him?

Why did something that made her bitter make him happy?

Cagalli closed her eyes and slept to her acerbic memories and a feline curiosity about the boy to whom she was growing inexplicably attached.

When Athrun woke he found himself inches away from large golden eyes. Emerald and gold melted together in silence until one spoke.

"Good morning!" she greeted, her eyes closing to accentuate her enthusiastic smile.

"Morning," was his passive response. He wanted to pull her close.

"I've never watched anyone sleep before," she stated for him to know, as she often did when justifying her nuances.

"Don't make a habit of it." He had neither flinched at their closeness, nor did he move away.

"Wow," she slurred with a lengthy o. "You think I'm creepy."

Normally, people did not say this as happily as she did. Athrun couldn't help but wonder if she'd felt sadness before.

"A little," he affirmed, "but I'm getting used to your idiosyncrasies." He didn't think he'd ever be fully comfortable with them, for she invented a few new ones daily. It kept her busy.

"Oh no!" She allowed sadness to scamper through her eyes. "I must be getting boring."

"That you will never be," he assured using one hand to ease himself upright.

She hastily placed her palm on his neck and pulled his face toward the pillow. Her thumb lingered in his cheek where a faint blush was well masked by dark, tousled bed head.

"Let's talk like this for a while," she requested, her fingers still pressed against the nape of his neck, "It's nice."

Athrun's heartbeat was a loud drumroll behind his temples. He was uncertain about why his body was reacting to her request as if he had just completed the 200 m dash. He was hot and flushed and was on the verge of breaking a sweat.

Her innocent, earnest, pleading gaze did not help matters much.

"Sure," he managed to say without arousing her suspicion. He took deep discreet breaths to calm his pulse. "What do you want to talk about?"

She didn't know. Cagalli had acted on impulse and was questioning her actions as she chose a conversation starter. "Do you play piano?" Her mind recalled her last thought before slumber.

"No." It was much easier to control his body while they spoke. Her voice could distract him from anything.

"Why do you have a piano?" She softly chewed on her lip as she often did during such interrogations.

She caught his fond glance towards the large instrument. He had long black eyelashes despite his blue hair.

"...because she loved the piano," he mumbled to himself.

She could clearly distinguish his whisper and a jealous possessiveness flared through her. He had shared this house with other women before? He must have; after all he had accommodated her so well. Then there was the underwear he'd dug up from the attic. Those must have been remnants of his previous boarders as well. Why else would a man stow women's lingerie?

Suddenly her bra seemed to dig into her ribs and she wanted to remove it as soon as possible.

His voice drew her attention away from the discomfort. "What was that song you were playing last night?"

"Huh?" She had a dopey, blank look on her face. This was probably the first time he had seen her eyes vacant.

"The song from last night," he reiterated, worry coiling in his stomach, "what was it?"

"Oh, that," she paused, searching her mind for something, "I don't think it has a name."

"What do you mean?" Songs were like people; they always had names.

"I don't think it was ever named," she shrugged against the sheets and they gathered underneath her hair.

"Did you write it?" He asked curiously. The question made her forget about his history with women stranger to him. It made the irate jealously vanish.

"No," she denied, sorrow weighing her voice down.

Athrun was at a crossroads again. He could either maintain their casual light mood by changing the subject, or he could satisfy his lingering curiosity from yesterday. He decided to pry this time.

"Then who wrote it?" The question surprised her even though she expected it. These were waters she did not want to swim in yet.

"A friend," she responded ambiguously, hoping he would hook onto her hints.

She avoided eye contact, which deepened his curiosity. "Were you close?"

Cagalli was beginning to regret asking for the proximity. She felt uncomfortable near him. His questions made her sweat as though she was under the bright heat lamps commonly found in Hollywood interrogation rooms.

"I guess," she shrugged, their eyes still playing hide and seek.

"Tell me about her," he asked bluntly, not wanting to play cat and mouse today.

"Why?" Her pointed glare met his stubborn gaze. She intended to hold his eyes only for a few moments but found it difficult to look away. Parts of her were curious to discover this new side of him.

"Because I want to know," he replied honestly.

"Why?" Athrun did not know if this was her natural curiosity or if she was trying to be difficult. He also did not know the answer to her question.

"Is she a secret?" He tried playing her game.

"Not particularly..." She sounded sincere.

"Then tell me about her." This was more direction than interrogation.

"How do you know she is female?" she stalled.

"Because I assumed so a few sentences ago and you didn't correct me."

"You're clever." She smiled the way she did when she was trying to worm her way out of chores she hated.

Her reluctance to open up to him annoyed him today. This was reflected clearly in his eyes, which was a rarity in its own. An immediate urge to put distance between them rushed him. It had been so long since he had last lost his cool. The feeling felt foreign.

"I'll go make breakfast," he quickly filled the silence before pushing himself off the bed. Her fingers limply traced his collarbone, triggering a ticklish tingle which paced along his spine. He shook off the alien sensation as he headed for the kitchen, pulling the door almost shut behind him.

Cagalli stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She let out a long sigh and her shoulders visibly relaxed. She could not blame him for his curiosity. After all, she had an endless list of questions about him as well. She would start with questions about the girl who loved the piano.

Something stabbed at her heart.

She wondered why people needed to discover each other so intimately. Why couldn't they just live and let live? What was it about the past that was so alluring? Wasn't the future a more important worry?

She rolled off the bed and landed on her feet. The absence of sizzling from the kitchen told her breakfast was sandwiches. She wondered if he was going to make her anything in lieu of their disagreement. It was the first time that he'd lost his patience with her.

She dragged her feet over to the kitchen and settled into the doorframe. He was spreading marmalade on bread and the butter knife was just short of tearing the bread as it skimmed iover the soft surface.

He cut the crust off hers. She smiled at his consideration of her despite her childish possessiveness of her life prior.

"Her name was Maria," she said as he shoved the pieces of crust into his mouth. He would always eat the crust from her sandwiches and pizza slices, and he would always shove all the pieces into his mouth in one big bunch. His widened mouth with inches of bread jutting out of it was a comical scene and she still giggled uncontrollably at the sight.

He was holding the diagonally cut sandwich to her as he munched on the excess crust in his mouth.

"She was my nanny, an unofficial piano teacher and role model for the most part," she continued, grabbing the plate and taking a seat at the table.

Athrun perched himself on the countertop and brushed the crumbs from him lower lip as he listened.

"She didn't name her compositions?" He asked, after sufficient silence had passed to indicate she had finished talking.

"She didn't particularly compose. She just played at random. Music was like her diary. She was never any good with words." A sad smile pulled at her lips as she stared out the window. He was certain she was lost somewhere in her memories by now.

"What kind of person was she?" She probably couldn't afford anything but honesty right now, lost on memory lane. The guilt of taking advantage of this stung him.

"She was a hopeless romantic and liked to write happy, sparkly, bubbly melodies on the piano," she shrugged, biting into a portion of her sandwich.

"I have never met a hopeless romantic," he told her, following her vacant gaze out the window, "What are they like?"

"They are so whimsical," she started with a fond chuckle. "Maria was always in love. Love songs, limousines, rich men, candlelight, she fell so easily for the simplest things. She liked wishing wells and to make believe. No matter how many times she'd have her heart broken, she'd recover with another romance.

"'You are the only person I've met who has never broken my heart Lily,' she once said to me, 'Girls have to be strong. Don't cry easily. Don't show strangers your weaknesses,' she'd warn me with tears pouring down her cheeks. She was such a strange mixture of happy and heartbroken. Nothing ever brought her hopes down. She probably still believes in fairytales."

Cagalli had pushed her plate away from her as she often did when she lost her appetite because of something grotesque playing on the television. She tried to recollect happier times.

"Maria and I were opposites. I was a tomboy who always had scraped knees and torn overalls. She was always in dresses and sunhats with long, brushed amber hair. She was the only one who could get me into a dress in those days. She was the one who made me practice all my complicated Sonatas by seducing me with her happy-go-lucky tunes. She was always on the arm of a man, while I would gag at the thought of being domesticated. She wasn't that much older than I was. She had less than a decade on me, which is pretty amazing considering she was the most influential person in my childhood.

"We were best friends. She would confide in me things I would not understand until a few years had passed. I would ramble about my adventures in the gardens and all the slimy bugs I'd made friends with while she was at school. You see, Maria was the chef's daughter. She had to attend public school. I was always homeschooled. Maria thought that made me sheltered. Sheltered – that's something even you have called me. But she would also say that my homeschooling made me too mature for my age. She made it sound like such a bad thing. She was always getting into trouble for taking me places I wasn't supposed to be. She said it was worth it if it normalized me. She was afraid of me turning into an emotionless robot who would wordlessly do my parents bidding."

She paused here to laugh a little. "Silly, darling Maria. We were like two peas in a pod despite our differences."

"What happened to her?" He wasn't sure if this was the correct thing to say now, but no other words would form around his tongue.

"She left," was her short response. Athrun's eyes widened marginally, but his surprised took a backseat to the forlorn look in her eyes. "She found some boy she really liked whom her mother didn't approve off, so she ran off with him one day. No one has heard of or from her since."

There was a heavy silence in the house. He didn't say anything as he watched an internal conflict conquer her face. After what was an eternity to him, he approached her slowly.

His shadow startled her out of her trance. Her head snapped up and she smiled her sunny smile. "But that was years ago!" She forced a laugh. "It's something that's so far in the back of my memory that I don't even think about it anymore." She frantically waved her hand to prove how far into the past this was to her.

He stared at her with an intensity that frightened her. She was afraid because she could not read his thoughts. She moved away when he reached his hand out toward her, but wasn't fast enough to escape his grasp.

He pulled her out of her chair and pulled her head into his chest. Her hair laced his fingers and she stiffened against him.

"What are y--"

"Cry." His commanding voice cut her question short. Cagalli was confused, but before she could find her tongue, he spoke again. "It isn't true. Girls don't have to be strong all the time. It's okay to cry. You should cry when you are overwhelmed by sadness."

"I'm not overwhelmed by..." She was silenced by his arm now wrapped around her shoulder. "Really, Athrun, stop overreacting. What is done is done."

He neither spoke nor released her. He leaned his hips into the table behind him and closed his free arm low on her back.

It took many long minutes before Cagalli's body relaxed within the cocoon he had built for her.

Rain began to fall from the dark clouds.

"You know, she never came around to say goodbye," she whimpered, her body quivering because of the years of repressed tears. "She didn't think of me even for an instant."

He held her for hours; long, long after she had cried her tears dry.

* * *

**Andhera's Notes**

I think we are about a third of the way in. I can't be sure because this grows as I write it.

Thank you for reading. Please review. Then go read Tryst by xpainted dog, if you haven't already.


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